


Until We Let the Spectrum In

by ElectraCute



Series: The End of the Rainbow [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, F/F, Gay Panic, Meet-Cute, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraCute/pseuds/ElectraCute
Summary: It’s the beginning of term, and Fleur Delacour is having trouble making friends. Her decision to leave home and study in London has its downsides. On the other hand, it holds a big surprise that might turn her life around.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Nymphadora Tonks, Fleur Delacour/Original Male Character(s), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: The End of the Rainbow [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651339
Comments: 21
Kudos: 41





	1. Don't call me Nymphadora

**Author's Note:**

> This novella-style fic was born during endless conversations with my friend @todaslasmadrugadas and it takes place in the same universe as her amazing novel-length fic “The Boys of Summer”, which is about Sirius and Remus. Please check that out if you want more info about the universe or if you’re simply interested in an incredible original story. And if you’ve read it already, look out for a cameo.
> 
> There are more stories, shorter and longer, that take place in this AU, written by both of us. You can find them all in “The End of the Rainbow” series (named after an ABBA lyric). I also recommend that you subscribe to the series if you want to keep up with future installments - and rest assured, there will be a few!
> 
> (This fic has also been named after a lyric, from the Florence + The Machine song Spectrum. I do sense a pattern here.)
> 
> Against the risk of sounding cheesy, I have titled all the chapters with lines from within each chapter itself, just because I felt like using a new format for my work. The point of view is switched in every chapter, starting with Fleur’s POV and then alternating between Fleur and Tonks. It’s probably obvious but I just wanted to clarify it.
> 
> Oh! I almost forgot. There will be a new chapter every Sunday.
> 
> That’s all for now. Enjoy!

There is this very common trope in films and television shows, in which the least popular girl in class just so happens to be exceptionally good-looking even before her required makeover - see Tai from  _ Clueless _ , for instance. Fleur used to hate that trope when she was younger, finding it stupid and completely unrealistic, and yet here she is; sitting alone at a two-seat desk and doodling absentmindedly on her notebook. In these very few days since the beginning of term, several small groups have formed in her year, yet none of them seem to include her.

Truth be told, she expected things to be quite different. She pictured herself as this gorgeous and fascinating Parisienne who would enchant people by her mere presence, and her fellow students as awestruck pilgrims who would get in line to talk to her. Perhaps it is this misplaced self-confidence and the lack of effort from her part that has put her in this position - not to mention that her undeniable beauty, combined with her pride, must seem rather intimidating.

No wonder that she is left alone once again at the end of the lesson, when everyone else storms out of the lecture hall in groups of three or four. Fleur sighs and decides to stroll around campus for a bit, in an attempt to cheer herself up. Lonely breaks can be depressing.

Passing by a hallway, she notices a commotion in one of the small exhibition halls; an older student has put their works on display, and there is quite a crowd huddled around the paintings. She pushes her way through to have a look herself, and what she sees surprises her; it is unclear what they depict, but Fleur is oddly drawn to the fluid shapes, the vibrant colours, the bold strokes - these paintings show nothing and everything at the same time.

It is something she has never considered before, something as abstract as that expressing such specific emotions. Fascinated, she asks a student if he knows the artist, this  _ Nymphadora Tonks _ , and he points to a girl sitting at the back of the room.

Nymphadora Tonks has a head of short, bright pink hair and is wearing a striped shirt and denim overalls.  _ She couldn’t look more like an artist even if she tried _ , Fleur muses to herself,  _ she’s only missing the paintbrush tucked behind her ear _ . Despite the apparent success of her exhibition, the artist seems dispirited, and a tall, lanky black guy with a hat is patting her back soothingly.

Suddenly, the guy notices Fleur and discreetly elbows his friend. The pink-haired girl raises her head and looks at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

“Miss Nymphadora Tonks?” she asks reluctantly, careful with the pronunciation of the peculiar name.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Her tone is now completely cool, nothing like her expression a few moments ago. “Although I’ll ask you to call me just Tonks, will you? I hate my first name.” She winks at Fleur, and she nods with a smile.

“Just Tonks is fine,” she agrees, “and way easier to pronounce. I really loved the gallery! Modern art is normally not my cup of tea, but I must admit that your work surprised me.”

Her face lights up at those words. “Did you hear that, Jermaine?” she says to her friend, and he gives her an  _ I told you so _ look. She turns back to Fleur. “Well, that means a lot to me, thank you…”

Fleur realizes she’s looking for a name. “Oh, I’m Fleur Delacour,” she says and gracefully extends her hand for a handshake. Nymphadora Tonks grabs it a little clumsily with both hands and shakes it. Her palms are warm and soft, and the friendly touch makes Fleur smile.

“I thought you might be French,” she remarks while searching for something in the pocket of her overalls.

Fleur has tried her best to conceal her accent, but she realizes her name has irreversibly betrayed her. “Just how obvious is it?”

Tonks has retrieved a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and is taking one out. “Very,” she says while fishing for a lighter in her other pocket, “but I mean this as a compliment. I’m going outside for a smoke, care to join me?”

Fleur follows the artist outside while her friend Jermaine is eyeing them with a cheeky grin she cannot interpret. The sky is clear and the weather quite warm. They walk around the grounds for a while as Tonks lights her cigarette and takes a puff.

“So,” she says and a small cloud of white smoke escapes her lips, “you say modern art is not your cup of tea. You’re not the only one. Many people have a regressive opinion on what is considered art, or what makes good art, or whatever you might want to call it. But the nature of things evolves, and so do our definitions of them. And the definition of art is now different than it was three centuries ago, you know what I mean?”

Fleur simply nods, impressed by the sophisticated way Tonks speaks, and intrigued by the things she is saying.

“If you enjoyed my work,” she continues, “that means you can recognize the essence of this type of art, despite being conditioned to think it isn’t worth your attention. But Fleur, just because something is new and unprecedented, just because you aren’t used to it, it doesn’t mean you should reject it. Not before you give it a try, at least.”

Fleur likes how Tonks has just pronounced her name with a proper French accent, and wonders for a moment if she knows any French. “Maybe you’re right. Do you have any recommendations for me then? Any books or…”

Tonks chuckles. “Books? No no no, you cannot learn art from books. Listen, have you been here long?”

“Just a couple of months.”

“Have you visited the Tate Modern yet? You know, that gallery by the river, the one with the tall chimney.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“They are hosting works of a contemporary painter named Patrick Heron right now, perhaps you should go check that out. Or better yet,” she says with a glimmer in her eye, “I’ll take you. I’ll give you a free tour, and buy you coffee afterwards. What do you say?”

“Oh, absolutely! Thank you so much!” Fleur is delighted to be making such a cool new friend, and writes down her number on a scrap of paper for Tonks.

“I’ll call you,” promises the pink-haired girl and smiles. “It was nice to meet you, Fleur Delacour. I have to go back inside now, but I’ll see you around, right?”

“Right,” says Fleur, unable to hold back an excited grin. “Goodbye, Nymphadora, and thank you.”

“You’re welcome, love. But please do me a favour.” She drops the cigarette butt on the ground and smoothly stubs it out with her boot. “Don’t call me Nymphadora.”


	2. A french girl?

Jermaine is practically bursting once she gets back. “So, a french girl, eh?” he asks animatedly.

Dora shrugs. “I mean, there’s something about her. I was magnetized.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I saw your jaw drop when you laid eyes on her. But Dora, it’s hopeless. The girl is straight as a ruler.”

Dora smirks. “If you think that’s going to stop me, you don’t know me well enough.”

Jermaine is exasperated. “They have her picture next to the definition of straight, sweetheart! Don’t do this to yourself. I’m only worried about you.”

“Well, I’ve already arranged a date with her, so there’s that.”

“You  _ what _ ?!”

“We’re going to the Tate Modern. I’ll talk to her about art. You know how good I am at those things.” She winks at him, and he sighs.

“Don’t get your heart broken, love. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Dora is indeed good at talking to others about art. She becomes passionately eloquent, her words flow beautifully, and most people can listen to her for hours. Fleur, of course, is not an exception. Dora can tell that she has won her over by the time they exit the gallery, as far as modern art goes at least. She proposes that they grab some coffee at the nearest Costa, and Fleur happily agrees.

Dora observes her as she warms her frozen hands against the coffee cup and then takes a small sip. She is one of those people who look effortlessly glamorous no matter what they are doing.

“So,” says Fleur after the hot coffee has properly warmed her up, “you’ve told me everything about Patrick Heron, but still nothing about yourself.”

“If we’re going to tell each other our life stories, I think you should go first.”

Fleur laughs. “Why is that?”

“Oh, it’s just that mine is too long. Lots of interesting details that I can’t leave out. So let’s start with yours.”

“Very well.” She comically clears her throat. “I was born and raised in Paris. My father owns a pharmaceutical company. My mother doesn’t work, she has no need to, but she has studied art history at university. I really admire my mother and aspire to be like her - I’ve always considered her to be a very classy woman. That’s why I picked art history as well, I figured perhaps it’s what made her so refined. And there’s also Gabrielle, my little sister whom I love very much.”

“I see. And what brings you to London?”

“Oh well, my boyfriend has come to study here.” Dora almost spits out the coffee that she was about to sip. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, sorry,” she coughs, wiping her mouth with a paper towel. “Go on.”

“Yes, my boyfriend - his name is François - he has come here to study in the London School of Economics. He asked me to join him, and I said yes. It was a difficult decision, but studying abroad has always seemed appealing to me, and I did hope to improve my English. Besides, I couldn’t bear to be away from François for so long. Thankfully my family agreed, and here I am!”

“You must love him very much, to come all this way for him.”

“Oh, I do. We have a beautiful relationship. I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Dora simply smiles at that. “Have you been together long?”

“Two and a half years. We went to school together.”

“Right. No, that’s great. I’m very happy for you.”

“Thanks!” says Fleur, completely oblivious to the concealed bitterness of the remark. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me your life story. And keep in mind that you got me very intrigued, so it had better be good.”

“Alright, alright. So, I grew up in a working class neighbourhood in London Town, which is where my father is from. Μy mother, on the other hand, comes from an old aristocratic family. If you were from here, you’d probably know them. Their surname is Black.”

Fleur shakes her head. “I haven’t heard of them.”

This prompts Dora to unfold the tales of her famous relatives, which she has repeated over and over to different audiences and which always tend to receive amazed reactions. She first tells Fleur about her aunt Bellatrix, who was Margaret Thatcher’s trusted assistant until the latter quit four years earlier, and who - after a rumoured mental breakdown - is now likely forming a party of her own.

Next she talks about her other aunt Narcissa, wife of well-known millionaire Lucius Malfoy and famous socialite, and her young cousin Draco, the sole heir of the Malfoy name and fortune, whom she has only ever seen photographed in magazines.

“And how does your mother fit in the story?” asks Fleur, who has been listening attentively.

“My mother had a bad case of middle child syndrome. Along with the very strict ways of her upbringing, it led to her being a rebellious teenager. She became interested in politics, and was fascinated by the ideas of communism.” Dora chuckles lightly at that, picturing her mother reciting The Communist Manifesto to her Thatcher-loving family inside their enormous Kensington mansion.

She resumes her narration. “It was somewhere in that haze that she met my father, who had been working at a factory since he was thirteen, and used to go to lots of communist gatherings back then. He was young and hopeful, still an idealist. And, naturally, my mother was drawn to him - the way a bored princess would be drawn to a handsome peasant.” She smirks, satisfied with her analogy. “They had a heated affair, and that’s where I come into the picture; my mother got pregnant at seventeen and ran away from her family to marry my father. Obviously, the Blacks had no desire to associate with her after that, so they disowned her.”

Fleur has assumed a thoughtful expression. Dora can tell that this was not what she expected when she promised her an interesting story.

“You can imagine how the rest of it goes. My father worked long hours to be able to sustain us, and I barely ever saw him. My mother worked too sometimes, washing or mending clothes. Times were hard back then, but we got by. Eventually my father fell ill, his lungs couldn’t take working at the factory any longer. He retired a couple of years ago, for health reasons. And he won’t be getting any better.”

Fleur takes her hand and holds it comfortingly. “I’m so sorry.”

Dora is surprised, but cherishes the moment. “Thank you. I love my father very much. He has always tried to support me despite everything. He encouraged me to study what I love, and gave up all of his savings to send me to art school. He says I make him proud. My mother doesn’t approve as much, she thinks I should do something more practical, something that will help me get a proper job. But I’ve always wanted to be an artist, it’s what I do best. And there’s no point in doing anything else, is there?”

“No, you’re right. Not if it means wasting a chance to see  _ your _ work on the walls of the Tate Modern one day.”

“I’m glad you understand me. And I’m also... very flattered. Thank you, Fleur.”

The rest of the afternoon passes with casual conversation. Fleur tells stories about her upbringing in France, about the wonders of Paris, about the boarding school she attended and her friends there. Dora confesses that her mother taught her a bit of French when she was little, and she attempts to list all the words and phrases she can still remember, much to Fleur’s amusement.

When the time comes for them to say goodbye, Fleur thanks her for the lovely museum-and-coffee date, and Dora promises to keep in touch. As she longingly watches the blond girl disappear in the distance, it suddenly dawns on her that she has developed a crush. Not a simple attraction, but a full-on crush on this girl that she has known for mere days.

She feels like venting to someone about it, and luckily her plans for dinner involve paying a visit to a pair of ideal someones.

“She’s here!” comes a voice from inside the flat when she rings the bell. She hears steps and then the door opens to reveal a handsome man in his thirties, his long black hair tied in a low ponytail and a silver earring flashing on his ear.

“Sirius!” she cheers and hugs him. “Someone has been doing a lot of sunbathing,” she remarks after giving him an appraising look.

“Yeah, do you like it? I look even more like a greek god now.” A muffled voice of protest comes from the kitchen. “Oh hush, Remus! He’s just jealous because  _ he _ doesn’t manage to tan one bit in the sun. I had to coat him with sunscreen every two hours lest he turn red as a lobster.”

Remus emerges from the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron. “Greece is wonderful save for the cruel, unforgiving sun,” he sighs and comes to greet her. “How are you, Dora? I hope you like feta cheese, because I’m making a greek salad.”

“I like everything you make, Remus, you know that. I’d offer to help with the dishes but I assume you want your dinnerware in one piece when we’re done.” Her clumsiness and affinity to break things is almost legend at this point.

Dora has always loved her uncle and his partner very dearly, and greatly enjoys dining with them. Tonight, the conversation at the dinner table is dominated by stories from their recent trip to Greece, with Sirius telling her about the greek classics professor whom they befriended in Athens and who took them out for ouzo, and Remus showing her the postcards he collected from all the places they visited. They also give her a souvenir they have brought for her - a tote bag with the greek goddess Athena printed on it.

“So, tell us your news! How did the exhibition go?” asks Sirius as he dips a piece of bread in the salad and splatters olive oil all over the tablecloth, earning himself a stern look from Remus.

“It went great! Lots of people came to see it, someone wrote about me in the Camberwell College newspaper, and I also met this french girl there.”

Sirius slams his hand on the table. “A  _ french girl _ ? Tell us everything, young lady!”

Dora laughs. “Well, there isn’t much to tell. Her name is Fleur, and she’s absolutely gorgeous, with long blond hair and bright blue eyes - you know the type. We went out today and had a really nice time, but she revealed to me that she has a boyfriend, and that they’ve moved here together to study. On one hand, she seems stereotypically straight, and the wise thing to do would be to let it go. On the other hand, though, there’s something about her that makes me hopeful. It’s frustrating, and I don’t know what to do.”

Remus lays a friendly hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think you should give up before you’ve even started. Get to know her a little better, and then decide. But try not to fall for her in the process.” Dora sighs. She wishes it were that easy.

Sirius is more enthusiastic. “I say you should go for it. Would you really be my niece if you didn’t make people question their sexuality?” He gives a devilish wink. “Try to show her you’re into her, and give her a chance to respond. And if she doesn’t, it’s her loss, baby. Those straight girls don’t know what they’re missing.”

“You’re right. I’ll make a move, I’ll figure something out. Thanks, boys!” Her frustration has given its place to a feeling of excitement that’s bubbling in her belly.

“I like it when you call us boys,” says Remus. “It makes me feel like I’m sixteen again, reliving a certain summer romance with a certain handsome young man.” He pinches Sirius’s cheek, and he gives him a fleeting kiss. “I hope you’ll have an equally beautiful story of your own someday, Dora. And, why not, perhaps with this pretty  _ mademoiselle _ you have your eyes on.”

Dora hopes so too, and prays to the greek goddess Athena that Remus’s wish might come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and that you liked the cameo. Please leave me a comment and tell me what you think, I would greatly appreciate it and it would encourage me to continue posting.


	3. The Titanic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're staying safe and calm amidst this pandemic. If you're self-isolating and looking for ways to pass your free time, binge-reading all of our works in The End of the Rainbow series is a great idea! They'll lift your mood and keep you entertained.
> 
> Seriously though, I wish everyone a quick and peaceful quarantine. Please be careful and don't panic. We'll get through this!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Fleur wonders if François has always been this absorbed by schoolwork. She doesn’t recall him being such a dedicated student back in France, and the fact that he is so rudely ignoring her to complete his statistics assignment, even asking her to leave him alone while she attempts to get cuddly, comes as a great surprise.

He has indeed been a little distant lately, as he spends most of the time on campus with his new friends or at his desk, nose buried in his textbooks. But tonight, Fleur was really hoping for a nice evening with him, where they would have dinner and catch up with each other a little bit. She would tell him all about Tonks, the exciting new friend she has just made, and perhaps he would tell her some of his own news as well.

Moving to London was supposed to bring them closer together, not pull them apart. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea after all. Or maybe she needs to stop overthinking it and just go to sleep already.

She is barely paying attention in class the following morning, her mind racing with thoughts about François and - occasionally - about Tonks. She’s feeling down and could really use a friend right now. And so she takes her time wandering in the hallways after class, hoping to run into her.

Locating the bright pink head is not difficult - it sticks out among the other people in the group. Tonks also notices Fleur from afar and waves. “Get over here!” she shouts and Fleur cuts through the bustling crowd to get to her.

“Hello Fleur! Let me introduce you to the kids! Kids, this is Fleur Delacour. She’s from Paris and she studies art history here at Camberwell. Now get in line and introduce yourselves!” Fleur blushes at how Tonks is making such a fuss about her.

“Yes ma’am!” says a guy with curly red hair and large square glasses who is wearing paint-stained jeans. “Hey Fleur, I’m Ernest. What’s up?” He takes her hand and shakes it earnestly.

“Hi Ernest, it’s nice to meet you.”

“And I’m Jermaine, you might remember me from the other day,” says the lanky black guy that Fleur had seen at the exhibition. He is wearing a vertically striped pink shirt, grey trousers and a blue belt. Today his hat is missing, and Fleur can see that his hair is dyed a light blond. “Dora and I are flatmates, so I’ve got heaps of dirt on her, in case you ever need any.” Tonks playfully slaps him on the arm, and he pulls away, grinning innocently at her.

“And it isn’t just Dora. He’s got dirt on everyone. I’m Olivia, by the way,” says a girl with long black hair, dressed in all black with fishnet tights, combat boots and a choker. “So, you see, it’s better to be his friend. That’s why I hang out with him.” Jermaine pretends to be deeply offended and Olivia smiles smugly. They look like a rather cool bunch.

“So,” says Tonks, “you wanna join us for lunch?”

Fleur agrees gratefully. These people seem nothing like her friends back at her prestigious boarding school, the people she always considered to be her likes. But studying abroad has always felt like an opportunity for meeting new people, interesting, different people, and now she finally gets to do what she has come here for.

It doesn’t take long for her to blend into the group and be accepted. She learns so much from her new friends, who are all incredibly talented artists. Olivia majors in photography, carries a Polaroid camera with her at all times, and can most often be found in the developing lab. The others like to call her a vampire because of all the time she spends in the dark - combined with the way she dresses, of course. Ernest’s fine arts major focuses on comic book design, and he’s currently working on his own first graphic novel.

Jermaine, naturally, studies fashion design, and the flat he and Tonks share is always cluttered with muslin, cardboard patterns and various pieces of fabric. He sometimes asks Fleur to model for one of his creations, and the more avant-garde the look, the more fun it is. Jermaine insists that she should try her luck as a high fashion model, claiming that she is  _ the prettiest girl he has ever seen with his own two eyes _ as she walks across the hall wearing his sample garments in a makeshift catwalk.

Of course, Fleur is still closest with Tonks - or Dora, as she has begun to call her now. It seems to be an intimate nickname for people in her inner circle, and Fleur feels honoured to have permission to use it. Dora might as well be the most fascinating person that Fleur has ever met. At times she is the honest, straightforward worker’s child, and other times she acquires the poise and finesse that belongs to the daughter of a noblewoman. The two elements often intertwine, making up the unique personality that Fleur is so inexplicably drawn to.

She particularly likes to watch her paint; apart from the abstract pieces she had seen in the exhibition, Dora is also skilled at more traditional art, and sometimes takes on commissions for portraits or other types of paintings to make a living. At the same time she works at a studio that offers art classes, teaching amateurs how to paint generic things, like landscapes and still lifes. Paint tends to get all over her every time she picks up a brush, and she sometimes just walks around with little smudges on her face, which Fleur usually offers to clean up, being the only person in the group to ever carry wet wipes.

Apart from everything else, Dora is also a wonderful partner in conversation. Fleur can discuss anything with her, from Disney films to philosophical questions about the universe. She often talks to her about François as well, about how she sometimes can see the two of them slightly drifting apart, and about how although she does not regret coming to London, she feels like perhaps coming as a couple was unwise.

It might be that she is simply overreacting to unimportant incidents. But the hurt and rejection she feels every time François chooses something else over her adds up, and she doesn’t want to tell him anything because he will consider her crazy. Why is she so upset over him not wanting to go watch that new  _ Titanic _ film with her, for example? He simply stated that he was not interested in this type of romantic films, it had nothing to do with Fleur herself. And yet here she is, sitting at the cafeteria and telling her friends about it on the verge of tears.

“Oh, darling,” says Tonks and gives her a comforting hug. “It’s alright, you can come with us! We were planning on going to see that film anyway.”

Fleur sniffles. “You were?”

“Yeah,” says Olivia, “we’re going  _ ironically _ . Because it’s a romantic film and we are all single. Of course you’re sort of ruining it,” she teases, “but since you won’t be bringing a date you’re free to join us.” Fleur only smirks at that, choosing not to comment on the tension she has lately noticed between Olivia and Ernest.

The five of them watch the  _ Titanic _ later that week, and all of their  _ ironic _ attitude has evaporated by the end of the film. Ernest is blankly staring off into the distance, Olivia is fixing her eye makeup that has mysteriously smudged, and Jermaine is comforting Dora, who is properly crying. “But that stupid door f-fit them both!” she says through her tears. “Jack didn’t have to d-die! This movie is f-full of plot holes!”

Jermaine laughs and hands her a tissue. Fleur, who has been shedding a few tears herself, is surprised to find out Dora is such a crier. She’s also somehow touched by it, and suddenly feels immense gratitude for this fantastic group of people that the gods have placed her in. Perhaps François refusing to go with her was for the better after all. He would have certainly not cried at all, let alone as endearingly as the pink-haired girl sitting beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this story, please comment to tell me your thoughts, to point out something that you particularly liked, or simply to say hi! Creators really appreciate people who take the time to comment or even leave kudos, it helps us stay motivated to create more stories! :D  
> xxx


	4. Head over heels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you've been liking the story so far. This chapter is Christmas-themed although very off-season, but I do hope you'll be able to overlook that. It also features a couple of characters we haven't had a chance to see until now! So please enjoy reading and I'll see you at the end notes!

As Dora goes up the stairs to her uncle’s apartment, late to the party like every year, she can smell the delicious casserole getting ready. It’s a Christmas Eve tradition that they eat Remus’s special casserole with a bottle of expensive wine that the Potters bring. It is also tradition since her childhood that she spend Christmas Eve with Sirius and Remus, and Christmas Day with her parents.

And this year is no exception. The door opens and they’re all there; Sirius, with a Santa hat and a beard on, is trying to get James to wear a pair of antlers and a red nose and be his Rudolph, aided by a very persuasive Harry. Remus and Lily are wearing ugly Christmas sweaters and playing with young Penny, who has recently turned three.

“Merry Christmas everyone!” Dora chimes in and Sirius rushes to welcome her, giving her a kiss on the cheek and slightly scratching her with his fake beard. She then proceeds to greet them all one by one, reserving a hug for little Penny and a “wotcher” for Harry, who seems to accept it as a compliment.

Dora is grateful to be allowed into this small circle of wonderful people, who love each other so dearly and create such a warm atmosphere around them. Soon they have gathered around the dinner table, and as the food is being served, Harry is entertaining the company with stories from his boarding school and his Chemistry professor.

From what Dora has gathered, this Professor Snape was an old classmate and childhood rival of Sirius and James, who used to attend the same school. Remus tries in vain to convince them that his colleague from Hogwarts isn’t actually that bad, while Lily is eyeing them reproachfully.

It doesn’t take long before she disengages and lets herself daydream about Fleur. She has gone home for the holidays, and Dora misses her terribly. It has only been a couple of days, and not seeing her all the time has suddenly become unbearable. How she wishes Fleur were here with her! Maybe next Christmas she’ll convince her to stay and they’ll spend it together. A daring little part of her also wishes that by next Christmas something might happen between them.

She now feels there is a spark, and wonders if Fleur has also felt it yet, or if she is too absorbed by the heteronormativity she’s been fed all her life to see it. Or, a third possibility, if Dora has actually made it all up and is paranoid. Maybe Fleur is completely straight, maybe she’ll never like her back! And maybe Dora will have to deal with it.

That thought keeps her up at night. At some point, no doubt, she’s going to talk to Fleur about her feelings. She’ll have to, or she will get to a point where she will simply burst from bottling it all up. And Nymphadora Tonks is not someone who bottles things up - no, that’s definitely the last thing to be said about a girl who came out as gay to her conservative mother at the age of sixteen because she just couldn’t take hiding any longer.

What is Fleur doing right now? She’s probably at her family’s fancy mansion, wearing a fancy dress and drinking fancy drinks with her fancy guests. Is François there too? Yes, certainly. Dora has only met him briefly, when going to pick up Fleur a couple of times, and she doesn’t like him one bit. He looks so much like a typical young aristocrat who spends most of his time reflecting on how much better he is than everyone else. The thought of him standing next to  _ her _ Fleur, touching her, kissing her right now is driving Dora up the wall.

There is movement at the table and that wakes her up all of a sudden. Dinner is over, everyone is carrying dishes to the kitchen and Lily has offered to do the washing up. “Would you mind helping me a little bit?” she asks her, and Dora is puzzled. “Oh… I’d be happy to, but make sure to only give me the unbreakable stuff,” she jokes. Lily assures her that she will and they go into the kitchen together.

“Maybe I can wash the cutlery and you can-”

“We can leave that aside for now, dear, I just wanted to talk.” Dora is taken aback; she has known Lily for a long time, but they aren’t the closest of friends. What on earth would she want to talk to her about?

“Is there anything wrong?” asks Lily with a comforting voice and the kindness in her bright green eyes makes Dora feel a little more at ease. “You seemed a little broody at the table. What’s bothering you?”

She sighs. “Oh, you wouldn’t understand. It’s a… a  _ gay _ thing.”

Lily laughs. “Why don’t you try me?”

“Well... alright.” The truth is, she does need to let off some steam, and sometimes talking to a person you aren’t that close to can be much less stressful. “So, long story short, there’s this girl I like and I don’t know if she likes me back - if she could ever like me back. And to make matters worse, right now she’s in Paris with her rich family and her rich boyfriend, and I’m here missing her, and waiting for her to get back.”

“Sweetheart,” says Lily, gently brushing Dora’s cheek with her thumb in consolation, “I won’t pretend to know how you feel. You’re in a difficult position, and it seems to me you’re falling for this girl, if you haven’t already. Be realistic, but don’t lose all hope. Why don’t you set a deadline for her?”

“A deadline?”

“Say, the end of the school year. If she hasn’t given you the slightest sign by then, you’ll have to try and move on. Allow her the time she may need but don’t let her consume you forever. Sometimes we have to be hard on ourselves, for our own sake.”

Dora frowns, unwillingly registering somewhere in the depths of her mind that Lily is probably right.

“But don’t get disheartened,” she adds while wrapping her red hair into a quick bun and tying an apron around her waist, “if James Potter managed to get the girl after literal  _ years  _ of trying, then I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to do the same.”

Dora chuckles. “That  _ is _ encouraging. Thanks, Lily.”

Lily smiles. “Don’t mention it. And now, get over here and help me with these dishes.”

The rest of the evening passes rather pleasantly, and Dora returns home to find a postcard waiting for her; a shot of snowy Paris, with a sparkly Eiffel Tower. The fluttering in her chest accelerates as she turns it around and reads the elegant cursive writing:

_ My dearest Dora, _

_ my return to Paris is making me feel slightly misplaced. Although seeing my family and my old friends has been wonderful, I can’t help but notice how much of a different person I have become, and how difficult I find it to fit back into the position I once occupied here. It is, however, a change that I welcome into my life, and I have mainly you to thank for it; you are, no doubt, the main reason behind it. Merry Christmas to you and everybody else, I hope you have a great time and I look forward to seeing you again! _

_ Love, _

_ Your Fleur _

Dora kisses the postcard and holds it to her chest, grinning like an idiot. Fleur has drawn little hearts and snowflakes around the letters, and she lovingly traces them with her fingers, always smiling. She goes to sleep peacefully that night, and not even the thought of dinner with her parents the following day can upset her - for now, at least.

She arrives at her childhood home a little late, and wonders for a moment if her mother will scold her over it. Andromeda, however, mentions nothing and instead exchanges Christmas wishes with her, giving her a hug and a kiss that smell of roast beef and pudding.

Dora finds her father in the living room, sitting in his worn armchair by the fire, a blanket spread over his legs. He looks thinner and paler than the last time she has seen him. She hugs him tightly, wishing him Merry Christmas too, and he kisses the top of her head.

They sit around the table and her mother serves them. Dora can feel her eyes examining her, and does not lift her face from the plate. She cuts the roast beef into smaller and smaller pieces, pretending she’s too absorbed by this task to engage in conversation. She wishes she could skip the upcoming small talk.

“How did you spend Christmas Eve, Nymphadora?” comes the first question.

“The way I have almost every year, mum. With Sirius.” She knows that her mother blames Sirius for being a bad influence on her daughter, and has held a bit of a grudge towards him these past few years.

“I see. And how is dear Sirius?”

“He and Remus are very well, they send their greetings.”

“Sirius is a nice lad,” says her father. “I’ve always liked him. I don’t understand why you drifted apart from him, ‘Dromeda.”

Andromeda gives him an exasperated, ‘we’ve talked about this’ glare. “People have their reasons for doing things, Teddy. Now, Nymphadora, tell us about your  _ studies _ .” She pronounces the last word as if she doesn’t really think it deserves to be called that.

“Classes are going great. I love Camberwell. And I have some wonderful friends there. It couldn’t be better, really.” Her father looks at her proudly. Her mother purses her lips.

“I don’t even want to imagine what sort of  _ wonderful _ friends you might have made there,” she comments.

_ I bet that’s what your family said when they found out you’d been sneaking out and running off to Camden, _ Dora thinks to herself but she decides against saying it. She isn’t fifteen anymore, and knows better than to provoke her mother’s rage.

They talk of this and that, and Dora tries to ignore her mother’s occasional bitter remarks and focus on her father instead; she knows what the doctor has said, and tries to cherish every little moment. He entertains her with stories from when he had first met her mother; young Andromeda was shocked by the simplest everyday things, such as the fact that one had to do their own shopping at the grocery shop or cook their own food.

“You did get a hang of that quite well eventually,” she comments, trying to appease her mother who looks a little offended by their laughing at her expense. “This dinner is delicious.” She quickly regrets the compliment, though, because it gives her mother the chance to once again scold Dora over never taking notes from her and learning how to cook herself. Honestly, this woman cannot be satisfied with anything.

As the holidays pass, Dora finds herself more and more absorbed by Fleur-related thoughts. One day she misses her stop on the underground because she is imagining the one-thousandth scenario where she and Fleur end up together. Another day she is thinking about Fleur while working on a piece and she absentmindedly drinks from her paint water glass. Could it be that she has fallen in love with her? Or are her feelings exaggerated because Fleur is away?

But on the first day of school after the holidays, she sees her from afar and has to fight the urge to sprint across campus for her. Fleur hugs her for a long time and says she has missed her, and as she stands there in her arms, Dora knows; she really has fallen head over heels for this girl. And although that sounds like the stupidest thing she could ever have allowed herself to do, she somehow has a positive feeling about it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of my portrayal of these old faves? Did I do them justice? I really enjoyed writing about Lily specifically and I'm thinking about maybe writing something else with her in the future. Leave me a comment and tell me your thoughts and ideas. Until next Sunday! :D


	5. A stupid, stupid thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you're all staying safe - and sane - during the quarantine. Please enjoy another cheesy chapter from your favourite meet-cute.

Strangely enough, a wave of relief washes over Fleur after she returns to London. It isn’t that she hadn’t missed her family, nor that she didn’t have a good time spending Christmas in Paris. But coming to London has given her an opportunity to reinvent herself, and she likes the person she’s becoming more than the person she was when she left France.

Things with François have not improved during the holidays, but they are both turning a blind eye for now. A confrontation is the last thing Fleur wants. They both have to focus on their first semester exams, and this allows them to avoid facing any other issues.

Fleur spends most of her time in Dora and Jermaine’s flat because she really feels inspired to study there. She likes to sit on Dora’s bed and highlight her textbooks as Dora assaults a canvas across the room, in a desperate attempt to finish a project that is due the following morning. They coexist so effortlessly, finding comfort in each other’s presence. Sometimes they stay up talking until late at night, and Fleur ends up sleeping over. She has no idea how they will manage to pass any classes at that rate.

Dora tells her about her mum, whom she loves but sometimes cannot for the life of her stand; she can be very controlling and she’s never satisfied with her daughter, even when Dora goes out of her way to please her.

“And she keeps calling me by my full name on purpose, despite knowing how much I hate it,” she protests.

Fleur laughs a little at that; she thinks Nymphadora is a beautiful name, and has no idea why her friend hates it that much.

“I’m sure your mum loves you, Dora. This is her way of showing she cares.”

“Whatever. I don’t need her approval anyway. I have plenty of people that make me feel good about myself.” She winks, letting Fleur know that she is included in that list of people.

***

Exams eventually come to an end, and London is unusually sunny that day, as if to celebrate. The students are scattered around campus, lying on the grass and enjoying the weather. Fleur has joined the others in their little picnic, which is dominated by Jermaine’s lectures on a wide variety of different topics, mainly focusing on the personal lives of certain fellow students.

Ernest has brought his portable tape player and is blasting pop songs to irritate Olivia - very successfully so - and Dora is lying belly-down on the grass, her legs dangling in the air as she scribbles in her sketchbook with determination.

Fleur gazes at her absent-mindedly, admiring the features of her face. It isn't the first time she has done this; lately she finds herself studying her friend, being somehow intrigued by her, sometimes unable to take her eyes.

When Dora catches her staring, she smiles radiantly and Fleur smiles back. Maybe it's the whole “observe people" thing that art students are supposed to be doing, perhaps it's getting to Fleur too. But then, why doesn't she like to look at the others as well? Why is it just Dora?

Her eyes follow Dora’s jawline once again; delicate and slightly angular, no doubt compliments of her mother's aristocratic genes. She laughs at a sarcastic remark that Olivia makes and Fleur is delighted to see her laugh.

Dora is beautiful when she laughs. She’s beautiful when she draws, and she’s beautiful when the sun hits her face like this. Fleur wants to trace that jawline with her fingers and seal those laughing lips with a kiss.

_ What? What the hell am I thinking? _ Her eyes go wide in terror as she realizes what has just crossed her mind. That's impossible, she can't have meant it. But the more she tries to drive the thought away, the more the fantasy keeps tossing and turning in her head. She can see it all too clearly, her lips on Dora’s, her hands caressing the bright pink hair, her body pressing against hers.

Suddenly, it’s all she can think of. Panicking, she makes up some excuse, hurriedly shoves her stuff into her bag and runs into the building, desperate to distance herself from the others lest they understand something.

As the days go on, she can't get it off her mind. Focusing on her new semester classes becomes hopeless when Dora occupies her head at all times. How had she not seen it so far? The boyish charm her friend exudes, which makes her so endearing. The way Fleur always likes to run her fingers through that tousled bright pink hair, with the excuse that she wants to fix it. The hours she spends admiring her features, thinking about how much she loves her, how grateful she is to have her. As a friend, she always told herself. She now knows that is not the case.

Her mind races back to her school years. Has she experienced this before? She recalls finding girls attractive on several occasions, but she always figured it was a completely normal reaction to objectively good-looking people.

No, no, this just can't be right. Fleur is  _ not _ a lesbian, that is absolutely impossible. Just because she recognizes beauty in a person of the same gender, it doesn't mean that she is sexually attracted to them. That would mean she had a crush on Marie-Louise from primary school, or Sophie who shared her dorm in high school.  _ Oh no, _ she thinks, recalling how she never averted her eyes when Sophie undressed in front of her, mesmerized by the sight. It has never stricken her as odd before, but what if there’s something to it?

The longer she spends immersed in thoughts like that, the more plausible all of it seems. However, Fleur stubbornly refuses to recognize it, she refuses to believe that someone like her is experiencing romantic feelings for a girl.

_ But that's exactly what is happening _ , the little voice inside her head supplies.  _ You're falling for Dora. You want her. You dream of her arms around you and her lips on yours. _ Fleur shushes it with a shake of her head. It's just that François has been ignoring her lately and she feels lonely, and that Dora is such a brilliant friend, and that Fleur loves her so much, and that she's so gorgeous - no, the last part is completely unrelated. It was a stupid, stupid thought. She must forget about it and go on with her life.

That proves harder than she could have imagined; merely being near Dora sends a warm sensation to fill up her chest, ascend to her throat and almost take her breath away. She knows what she must really do; she must distance herself from Dora and the others, it is the only way to bury into the depths of her mind the attraction that she now undeniably feels.

But the thing is, she cannot do it. Dora has become such an important part of her life, and losing her would be painful. Perhaps she will go on and try to ignore this entirely inappropriate thought that has now nested inside her head and refuses to leave.

And the days pass, torturous, as she has to pretend that everything is like it was. However, her inner turmoil manifests in her relationship with François, which has already had its fair share of troubles. Fleur suddenly has no desire to work on it, to fix it, to try and keep it alive. That ship has sailed, she realizes. There is only one thing that she feels towards him now, and that is boredom.

She contemplates asking him to break up, and examines in her head the possible scenarios that may follow. She thinks of her family’s reaction, wondering if they will be surprised and disappointed or if they have been expecting it ever since the two of them left for England together.

It’s probably the latter, judging from all the words of caution they have said to her in the past and that she completely ignored every time, being too excited and too carried away by a future which looked so much less complicated from so far away. But how was she supposed to take Nymphadora Tonks into account?

In the end, she makes her decision. It’s time for both of them to move on. She discusses it with François, and they agree to end it. There aren’t any hard feelings between them, and Fleur only feels a bit of nostalgic sadness for the good times they’ve had in the past. But that’s where they belong now, and that’s where they’ll stay.

She announces the news to her friends the following day.

“And what are you going to do now?” asks Olivia.

“Well, I’m actually looking for a place to stay. The flat is in his name so he’s not going anywhere, and not facing him every day after this would be really nice.”

Jermaine almost jumps at that. “Why don’t you come stay with us? Temporarily, of course, until you find another place.” He looks at Dora. “I’m sure Dora doesn’t mind.”

Dora looks like she has just been struck with a bolt of lightning. “Uh… Of course! That would be great, I’m absolutely fine with it, in fact I’d be happy to have you! We’ll put you up in the living room, like when you sleep over!”

Fleur thinks about it. It really is a good option, and the sooner she moves out the better she will feel. Is this situation going to be affected by her feelings for Dora? No, it’s fine, she can handle it. After all, it’s only temporary. She’ll be out of that place soon enough, and no one will understand anything.

And so she arrives at their doorstep the following day, with two large suitcases and a few cardboard boxes. Dora has turned the living room couch into a nice little bed, and has put up a makeshift curtain in front of it, made from one of Jermaine’s rolls of fabric. “So you can have a bit of privacy,” she explains. Fleur hugs her gratefully.

She quickly settles in, and actually likes it a lot here. It feels a little bit like she’s on holiday with her best friends. The search for a new flat is put off day after day, and Fleur doesn’t feel like leaving any time soon. She wishes she could stay here forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! We're almost at the end! Chapter 6 will be accompanied by a very short epilogue, and thus I will be publishing them both together next week.
> 
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think of the story so far! How do you think it's going to end?
> 
> P.S. Subscribe to the "End of the Rainbow" series if you want to be notified about future installments! I can promise a multi-chapter story mainly about (but not limited to) Draco *pretty soon* as well as a couple of oneshots! And of course there will be more to come in the future :)


	6. Where she rightfully belongs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, the final chapter! Thanks to everyone who's been following this story, leaving kudos and commenting. After reading this, don't forget to click "Next Chapter" for a very short epilogue.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dora cannot believe her luck. The stars must have finally aligned; Fleur breaking up with her boyfriend and then moving in with her in mere  _ days _ ? This is a scenario she hadn’t even dared to dream of so far.

But now there she is, with the girl she so desperately wants right within her reach. She knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens between them; she can feel it in the air. Now all she has to do is wait for the right opportunity.

They sit in Dora’s bedroom one night, talking. Jermaine has gone out, and they’ve got the house all to themselves tonight. Fleur teases her over that  _ Titanic _ film they saw, and how she cried in the end.

“Well, I’m a sucker for romance, you know that,” she says.

“I think it’s because you really identified with Jack; the poor but honest artist, longing to see the world.”

“The main difference between us is that I haven’t drawn any French girls so far.”

Fleur laughs. “Well, what are you waiting for? Here I am!”

“You want me to make your portrait?”

“I mean, if you want to, of course.”

Dora feels the blood rushing to her cheeks. “No, I’d love to! Wait, I’ll get my easel and a canvas board and my brushes and…” she says as she picks up the things she needs from around the room. She sets up the easel and then observes Fleur who is sitting on the bed.

She admires her for a moment; her long blond hair falling like a golden waterfall on her shoulders; her bright blue eyes, which sometimes feel like they can peer into Dora’s soul; her delicate nose, her beautiful lips that Dora has desired from the moment she first laid eyes on them; her jaw, her collarbones, her breasts, her thin waist, her curves and her long legs; Fleur is simply a masterpiece that no painting will ever be able to capture properly, but she can at least try.

“Alright French girl, strike a pose,” she says. Fleur sits with her legs crossed and her back straight. “No, that won’t work, try something else.”

She sits sideways, brings her legs up to her chest and leans her head on her knees. “Too stiff, go for something more relaxed!”

Fleur leans back against the bedpost, supporting her upper body with her elbows. “That’s better, but why don’t you use the pillow?”

“How do you mean?” Fleur looks very confused, and Dora smiles affectionately at this ethereal beauty who nevertheless cannot pose to save her life.

“Here, let me help you.” She gets up and walks over to the bed, takes the pillow and folds it so Fleur’s head can be propped up on it.

“Right, now turn to the side to look at me, like this.” She gently pulls her shoulder to turn her around.

“And now your limbs...” She takes Fleur’s right arm and lays it against her chest, then places her left arm on her belly. She moves her legs around a bit too, and stands back to look at her.

“If you’ll just… move a little… like this…” she murmurs as her hands crawl on Fleur’s body again, adjusting her members.

This feels oddly sensual, and Dora cannot resist moving closer to her as she gently touches her neck and jaw, trying to fix the position of her head. Their faces are a few inches apart, and she can feel Fleur’s breath becoming more shallow, just like her own.

That’s when it happens.

Fleur decides to close the gap between them, and brushes her lips against Dora’s.

She pulls back, shocked at herself.

They take a moment to look at each other, to take it in.

And then their mouths crash onto one another violently, longingly. Fleur wraps her arms around Dora and pulls her closer.

It feels as if they have been holding back for years, and now they have let it all out in a fiery explosion. They kiss for a long time, barely taking the time to breathe, as if they will never get another chance to do this.

Dora feels like she’s tasting every colour of the rainbow, like she will levitate off the ground any second now, like she and Fleur are the only people left in the world and everything else has dissolved around them.

Her hand moves up Fleur’s thigh, and slips underneath her skirt. Fleur shudders when her fingers gently press against her panties, and Dora breaks the kiss for a moment. “Is this alright?” she asks, and Fleur nods desperately, pulling her back into the kiss and grinding herself against her hand. Dora’s fingers have done this before, and they quickly find their way under the panties, making Fleur hum.

Always kissing, they begin to undress. Fleur’s lips move down to her neck, sucking and leaving marks there, while her hands gently knead the soft flesh of her breasts.

Dora pulls her legs, making her lie on the bed, and plants kisses on her belly as she slips a finger inside her, and then another, while her thumb is working the little bud on top.

Fleur moans as Dora accelerates the movements of her hand, and almost cries when she lowers her mouth between her legs. “Don’t stop,” she sighs, “please don’t stop,” and Dora obliges.

After a while, she feels Fleur’s body pulsating against her. She begins to tremble, and soon enough she goes over the edge, screaming and crying out words in French that Dora cannot understand, but that sound so incredibly, deliciously  _ hot _ .

She collapses onto the bed, sighing heavily for a few moments, and then pulls Dora into another kiss.

It is now Fleur’s turn to bring her to the devastating point that she craves, and she follows the instructions that Dora mutters between her moans. Fleur’s lack of experience in this is compensated for by her passion and enthusiasm, and it doesn’t take her too long before she manages to return the favour. Dora bursts into swear words as the fire pooling in her lower abdomen explodes.

After they have both finished, they lie there for a while in the dim light, wrapped in each other's arms. Fleur runs her fingers through Dora’s hair, smiling. Dora kisses her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, then her chin. Fleur holds her tenderly, the tousled pink head resting against her bare breasts. Dora cannot recall the last time she felt such pure, unadulterated joy flooding her body. She is perfectly content, and there is nothing in the world that she would exchange this moment for.

Eventually, she gets up and gazes at the beautiful creature lying on her bed. Fleur lifts her upper body and looks at her quizzically, a smile twitching at the edges of her mouth.

“That's it, you're perfect. Don't move.”

Still undressed, she walks towards the easel and grabs the paintbrush. A determined look on her face, she passionately attacks the canvas, her brow furrowed and her tongue slightly sticking out as she studies Fleur’s nude silhouette in the half-light. In the end, she brings her over and shows her the finished work.

It's quite different from Dora’s usual work; the colours are still bright and vibrant, the strokes still intense, but there's an aura of eroticism surrounding the delicate figure. It feels as if her eyes are glowing, her breast still heaving, her skin glistening with sweat. Fleur embraces Dora from behind and kisses the back of her neck. “It's perfect,” she whispers into her ear.

That night, Fleur does not sleep in the living room. She sleeps in Dora’s arms, where she rightfully belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last scene was actually what inspired the story (the pairing, even) in the first place. Tell me what you thought about it!
> 
> I'm so happy you made it this far and like I said, make sure to read the epilogue too! :)


	7. A short epilogue

They’re hanging out in the kitchen now, having breakfast while Jermaine still sleeps, exhausted after a night of partying.

Dora sips her coffee across the table, her eyes always on Fleur. She studies her with a gaze that somehow feels soft against her skin.

There are so many questions in Fleur’s head; they still haven’t properly talked about what happened last night. Where does one start in a situation like this?

“When did you know?” she finally blurts out.

“That I like you?”

Fleur isn’t really sure what she meant with that question. “That you like… girls, I guess.”

“When I had my first crushes, I suppose. Besides, my uncle Sirius helped me identify it. Probably why my mum doesn’t speak to him as much nowadays.”

“Right. And… when did you know that you liked… me? Since you mentioned it, I mean.” Blood rushes to her cheeks as she says that.

“The moment you walked into that exhibition hall, love. Was it really that hard to read? I made it pretty clear, I think.”

“You know, looking back, I guess you did. It just went completely over my head. Until I caught feelings for you too.”

The widest smile is plastered on Dora’s face. “I still can’t believe that fortune has smiled on me; I’m just so happy.” She gets up and walks over to her. “I need to make sure I’m not dreaming; can I have another kiss?”

And her wish is granted. Their kisses are now softer, calmer, less hungry and desperate than last night. They know they have each other to hold, there is a certainty between them that wasn’t there before. And along with it, a warmth and comfort and care.

“What does this all mean, then?” asks Fleur, still wanting to seal what is happening with words.

“It means that we can be together. If you also want it.”

She kisses her again. “Of course I do.”

And so it is settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet and cheesy. I hope you liked my story! Please consider leaving me kudos if you did or, even better, writing me a comment and sharing your thoughts. I would really appreciate it and you would probably make my day!
> 
> Like I've said, this isn't the end for the End of the Rainbow AU. It will be expanded further. I'm hoping to post my story about Draco and what he's up to in this universe very soon, so if you're interested make sure to subscribe to the series to get notified!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Hugs and kisses to you. <3


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